


The Descent

by lovemyway (vesper93)



Series: Stolen Moments [8]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, First POV, Hurt, M/M, Memory, Pain, Religious Imagery, Sadness, Sickness, So much angst, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 17:39:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper93/pseuds/lovemyway
Summary: Elio is a mess after Oliver leaves.





	The Descent

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, 
> 
> Okay, before you read this, please, please, please, read the tags. This fic is very real about the realities of anxiety. This comes from a very personal place (and probably why CMBYN resonated with me so fucking much), but it meant that this could be quite painful for some readers. 
> 
> It's honest, and it's real. It's my version of how Elio would have felt after Oliver left him, and how deep that pain could go. There's no physical self-harm, or thoughts of suicide or anything like. It's more about the pain that the mind can create. 
> 
> It would mean the world to me if you read it. But don't if it's going to hurt you. 
> 
> With all the love, 
> 
> V  
> xxx

I leant over the toilet bowl, my knees against the tiles, retching and retching until my stomach was sore from the repeated spasm of my muscles. I was surprised that there was anything left in my body to actually get rid of; I didn’t think I had eaten anything in at least two days. Not because of an actually decision to do so, but just because I wasn’t hungry, and the thought of food was utterly unappealing. Food bored me. What was the point? I had managed to shrug off Mafalda’s continued prodding; claiming I was eating with friends in town. I was lying, I hadn’t seen my friends in weeks.

Somehow, however, I was able to continue. My body was incredible. It didn’t seem to care that I was pushing it to the edges of its abilities. I had gone for a run this morning and my body hadn’t seemed to miss the nutrients. I had cycled around the edges of town yesterday, following the routes that we had once taken together, and that had been alright as well. The body never ceased to amaze me; the level of pleasure it could feel, and the amount of hurt it could experience. It left me breathless.

After I was done emptying my stomach, I flushed, and then lay down on the tiles, my cheek to the cool surface, delightful after the heat caused by the effort of being ill. I didn’t want to do this, but yet somehow it was cathartic to lie here afterwards, prostrate on the ground, as if was serving some form of penance. The pain reminded me that the sin had been real, and that the wounds I bore weren’t merely imaginary. I wanted to keep prodding them, not letting them heal, so that they remained open, and wouldn’t fade to scars that could barely be seen. I needed to keep the memory alive, and this was just part of that. It was part of the process.

I didn’t make myself sick, I promise. At least not in the physical sense of sticking my fingers down my throat like I’d heard the girls talking about at school. It was just part of this. Part of the awful hurt that came with the roaring pain that engulfed my body. I knew why it was happening, and I knew why this pain was so real, so visceral. And yet, I kept revisiting, kept reliving, kept trying to hold onto the memory. But it was like when I was at the berm and gathered some of the water into my hands, bringing it to my mouth to drink from the cool clearness; it ran through the cracks and down my wrists, impossible to hold forever.

Yet when I was here, lying on the floor, a penitent, and with my mind causing my body real pain, it felt as if the memory would return to me. There would be a flash of clarity, _his_ voice in my ear, _his_ hand on my skin, _his_ mouth on my lips, _his_ body within mine. Sometimes, when I was lying here, I imagined it was how a person just on the verge of drowning must feel. They say that your life flashes before your eyes when you drown; this was like that. I was drowning, and moments flashed before my eyes each time my body punished itself for what my mind was trying to hold onto. My body and my mind were at war, and I wanted it to last forever.

I rolled onto my back. I could lie for here hours, staring at the ceiling, where a patch of damp was currently peeling the plaster away. I wonder if he’d spotted it when he was here, perhaps when he was sitting on the toilet one time. What a strange thought. My head would be about where his feet had been. He had such big feet. The thought made me chuckle to myself; an odd gurgled sound in my throat.

I hated the pain but I also loved it. I wanted to hold onto it, because whilst the pain was real, so was the thought that he might come back. But that in itself was punishment, because every day that he didn’t was an extra wound that I had to take care of. I knew that it was _him_ who was causing me to feel this wretched, but I couldn’t let him go. I didn’t want to let him go, I wanted to hold onto him so tight that he couldn’t leave me, despite the fact that he already had. Alright then, I would hold onto his ghost, his shade, and the memory of his presence. If I couldn’t have his reality, then I would have my imagination. I didn’t care that it made me sick; it was better than the alternative.

I _needed_ him. How dare he leave me like this? I was so angry at him, and the anger threatened to spill out of my eyes in the form of hot tears, in the way that the sickness had forced its way from my throat in the form of bile only minutes ago. I _hated_ him. Yet I wanted him to come back. So, so much. If he appeared tomorrow; picked me up off the floor and took me into his arms, then none of this would be matter. I would forgive him in less time than it took my heart to beat. It would just be the trial that the gods had put me through in order to be worthy of his embrace once again. I would happily suffer if he would be the reward at the end. _Please, please, please, please_.

My mouth formed the words to the empty air above my body; whispering the prayer to nobody who was listening. I thought that I should probably move from the floor, but somehow, I didn’t want to. Had a served my penance here yet? The only thing that made move, eventually, was to lay down at another altar. I crawled into the bed where he had slept for weeks on end, where we had shared each other, and where we had loved. **_We had loved_. **I knew that; not even his abandonment could make me doubt that. But sometimes love wasn’t enough. He had proved that.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and the autumn sunshine was bright through the still-closed curtains. I didn’t care. I wanted to be here. It was beautiful to be here, to lie in this cocoon of our memories; wrapped in his shirt that I had kept hidden from everyone. It was our secret. Under the arms still smelt of him a bit, and I covered my face with it, wanting to be as close as possible. Here he was real, and he wasn’t going to leave me. Here he was lying next to me again, and I could hold him again. It was the tiniest bit of the answer to the prayer I had whispered, and it was beautiful. Was it all I was going to get? Was it all I deserved? I was tired of all the thoughts crashing through my brain, and I wanted to sleep, just one more time, wrapped in his arms. I tugged billowy around me, a comfort, and closed my eyes against the harsh light of the world, and lay in the arms of his memory again.


End file.
